


Five First Dates

by Ingebjorg9



Category: Wallander (TV)
Genre: Detectives, F/M, Humor, Police, Romance, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-12
Updated: 2010-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-08 21:46:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/79827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ingebjorg9/pseuds/Ingebjorg9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt Wallander, encouraged by his daughter Linda, looks in the Personals column of the local newspaper to try and cure his loneliness.  Consequently, five less than perfect dates follow, and various types of chaos quickly ensue...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Date One, In Which Wallander Has A Lucky Escape

**Author's Note:**

> Wallander is always portrayed as such a lonely character. He would very much like to be in a relationship, but I don't know if he's very sure of himself when it comes to women!  
> Kurt, Linda, Stefan and Chief Holgersson belong to Henning Mankell, to whom I'm indebted for inventing these excellent characters!

Wallander arrived somewhat nervously at the restaurant. They’d arranged to meet for 7:30 and he was a few minutes early. He hoped they would be able to recognise each other. If she was as attractive as her voice on the phone had suggested he would have no trouble picking her out, but he hoped she didn’t take one look at him and change her mind.

“Who wants an aging policeman anyway?” he thought. It had mainly been his daughter Linda’s idea to answer the advert in the Personals section of the paper. Given his own previous experience with such things he could be forgiven for feeling sceptical.

On the dot of 7:30 a car pulled into the car park and a tall slim blonde got out. She noticed him straight away and made straight for him.

“Well hello!” she purred. For a moment Wallander was struck dumb, then he remembered his manners and introduced himself.

“Kurt Wallander. You must be Karin.”

She gave him a wide, seductive smile that made him feel a little self-conscious.

“You didn’t tell me you were so handsome!” she charmed. Now he felt very self-conscious.

They sat at a table and consulted the menu, making small talk. Looking at her over the top of his menu, Wallander began to feel that he knew Karin’s face from somewhere, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember where. He asked whereabouts she lived. It turned out she had a flat not far from where he lived on Mariagatan.

“What a coincidence. I don’t think I’ve seen you around though?”

“You wouldn’t have. I’ve been… away for a while.”

“Ah. Anywhere nice?”

“No, not really.” She seemed reluctant to continue on the subject, so he didn’t press her on it.

The food arrived and as usual for this restaurant it was excellent. While they made more small talk Wallander puzzled over where he might have seen her before. Something niggled at the back of his mind; her name reminded him of something too, but what?

Over dessert they discussed their jobs. Karin seemed slightly startled when Wallander told her he was a detective. He was used to women being less than impressed by his job, but such a strong reaction was unusual. He could tell it made her nervous, even though she was trying hard to hide it.

“So what do you do?” he asked her, a slight realisation beginning to dawn on him.

“I work in finance,” she said fairly non-committally.

“Oh? That sounds interesting.”

“Yes, it’s alright. I’ve worked for a few different banks. My favourite job was at Danske Bank. I was a manager there for four years.”

Suddenly a very bright light came on in Wallander’s head. Yes, why hadn’t he realised before?

“Being a bank manager is certainly an interesting job. Lots of… responsibility,” he said, looking her straight in the eye. “Lots of… opportunities. Not all of them legal opportunities though, hmm?”

Karin scowled back at him, furious that he’d had the audacity to actually recognise her and even more furious that he’d had the gall to bring it into the conversation.

“Why did you have to bring that up?” she hissed.

“Because I’m not sure it would be a good idea for someone in my profession to carry on a relationship with someone of your – er – background. Although I must applaud your ingenuity. Most people don’t even get away with it once, let alone five or six times, hmm?”

Karin stared at him open-mouthed. He had the distinct impression that she was more angry about being recognised than anything else. It was quite amusing really. She picked up her drink and threw it in his face in a rage.

“You swine!” she seethed, grabbing her handbag and storming out.

Well, that was the end of that. Once Wallander had mopped himself dry with the towel handed to him by waiter, and paid the bill, there was nothing left to do but go home. He knew that if he ever saw Karin again it would certainly be in an interview room at the police station. He shook his head and chuckled softly as he drove, resolving to ask his colleagues in Malmö exactly how they ever managed to trace all those frauds to Karin Berg.

All in all though, thank goodness his memory for faces was so good. It had been a lucky get-out. Him date a serial fraudster? No no, that would never do.


	2. Date Two, In Which All Hell Breaks Loose

Wallander shifted from one foot to the other.  She was late and he was getting cold.  Meeting on the seafront was now seeming like less and less of a good idea, especially in Ystad in April, when the weather could be unpredictable to say the least.  He pondered morosely that perhaps he wasn’t the only one with cold feet: she might have changed her mind about coming.

Just as he was wondering whether to give up and go home to a nicely warming glass of Scotch he felt a sharp tap on his shoulder.  He spun round to see a small, dark-haired woman gazing eagerly up at him.

“Kurt?” she chirped.

“Yes.  And you’re Agata?”

“That’s right. Let’s get out of here, shall we?”  She seized his arm and led him briskly down the street.

“Where are we going?”

“Oh, anywhere, really.”  Agata darted a look round.  “Let’s go in that bar. I need a brandy to warm me up.”  Wallander couldn’t disagree on that.  He let her sweep him into the bar, where they ensconced themselves in a dim but cosy corner.

They ordered a glass of brandy each and talked.  Wallander’s interest was piqued in this small dark woman.  She looked to be in her late 30s and was not the type of woman he would usually pick, but she had intense eyes and numerous mannerisms that he found quite endearing.  She was originally from Växjö and had been a housewife for 12 years before her husband ran off with a younger model and she decided to study for a degree in computing.  Now she ran a web design business from home.

“Impressive,” Wallander remarked.  “I have never understood computers myself.  I have to get one of my colleagues to turn mine on for me.”

She laughed at that, as did he.  He found it ridiculous himself, but you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, can you?

Agata’s laughter stopped abruptly as the door to the bar opened.  She swivelled round to look and seemed visibly relieved when the only person to walk in was an elderly man with a rolled-up newspaper under his arm.

“Is everything okay?” Wallander asked.

“Oh, yes, fine,” she said, just a little too eagerly.  “I startle easily, that’s all.”

They ordered more drinks and Wallander suggested they move closer to the open fire, where it was warm and bright, but Agata insisted she was fine in their little corner.  Wallander shrugged. Perhaps this corner had more atmosphere, but it would be pleasant to sit by a nice glowing fire for a bit.

Just then his phone rang.  He whipped it out of his pocket and saw Stefan’s name on the caller id.

What now, he though impatiently, couldn’t the team cope without him for one day?

“Stefan?” he answered.  “What’s the problem?”

“No problem.  But, er…” Stefan’s voice hesitated on the other end.

“What?  You know it’s my day off.  Whatever it is, can’t you handle it yourself?”

“It’s about those drug deaths.  We’ve tracked down the dealer…”

“Well go and bring him in then!”

“Bring _her_ in,” Stefan corrected.  Something in his tone irked Wallander.

“Or her, then.  You don’t need me for that.”

“No, but I thought you needed to know, because…”

“I _don’t_ need to know.  Just do your job and bring her in.  I’ll see her, and you, tomorrow.”

“But…”

Before Stefan could say any more, Wallander had hung up, switched his phone off and put it back in his pocket.  He felt very irritated.  Stefan knew better than to call him on his day off, unless there was some kind of dire emergency.  He smiled apologetically at Agata.

“I’m sorry about that.  My young colleague usually doesn’t need me to hold his hand for him.”

She smiled indulgently.  He had the feeling that she had secretly enjoyed listening to his side of the exchange.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.  “I know a nice little place round here if you like pizza.”

She said that yes, she was hungry.  Pizza sounded nice.  However, couldn’t they have just one more drink before they went?  Wallander sighed very quietly and ordered her another brandy, while he had orange juice.  He was beginning to wonder if she didn’t have a drinking problem or some such.

It was getting dark by the time they finally left the bar.  Strolling idly down to the restaurant was evidently not an option, as Agata immediately took his arm and began to march him down the street.  He felt himself getting out of breath.

“Hey, what’s the hurry?” he gasped, trying to slow her down.

“Oh, no hurry.  I’m just hungry, that’s all.”

If she was that hungry why did she insist on staying for another drink, he wondered.  It was becoming clear to him that they were never going to make a good couple.  He was thinking over the best way to tell her this when he was startled by a loud voice.

“HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!”

A mob of armed men ran towards them out of the dim evening light.  At first he thought they were going to be robbed, until he recognised the faces of some of the men.  He couldn’t quite believe what was happening.  The men pinned Agata against the wall and frisked her as she screamed blue murder at them.

“Now wait a minute!” Wallander cried, feeling extremely vexed by the scene unfolding before him.

“Sorry Inspector,” said one of the men.  “I’m afraid we’ve got orders to bring her in.”

Bring her in?  Oh no.  No, she couldn’t be…

He was aware of someone standing beside him, and turned to see Stefan.

“This drug dealer is… Agata?” Wallander croaked weakly.

“Yeah,” Stefan admitted. He even looked slightly embarrassed.  “We’ve been watching her all day.  I tried to warn you so you could get out of the way, but you wouldn’t listen to me.”

“No.”  He watched grimly as the armed officers confiscated a gun and a small bag of something that looked suspiciously like heroin.  Sweet mother of mercy, it would be months before he would be able to live this down.

Stefan was looking at him with something resembling pity. It made Wallander want to crawl under a rock and stay there.

“Look, I’m sorry about this, okay?  Better luck next time.”  Wallander acknowledged Stefan’s condolences with a sullen nod.

Oh well, back to the drawing board.  Again.  At least tomorrow’s suspect interviews will be interesting, he thought.


	3. Date Three, In Which Wallander Finds Out More Than He Needed To Know

It took a lot of persuading from Linda for Wallander to agree to go on another date after the debacle he had had with Agata. It was three weeks before his colleagues at the station had stopped sniggering and teasing him about it. Even Chief Holgersson, who he had expected to take a dim view of his date with a suspect, had stifled a smile or two during her rather excruciating interrogation of him. He wasn't ready to trawl the newspaper for another potential train wreck of a date.

In the event, though, it was an acquaintance who had set him up on a blind date with a woman who was, apparently, the "perfect match" for him. Beautiful, intelligent, not too young but not too old either: she sounded too good to be true. Wallander was sceptical, but secretly curious about this woman. In his experience there was always a catch with a woman that perfect.

So now he was waiting at the bar of the Saltsjöbaden Hotel, nursing a Scotch and waiting for a woman wearing a red carnation. How clichéd, he thought. Still, it was Eriksson's idea, not his.

Someone was coming in now. It was a woman; she had turned to hold the door for the person behind her, but he could see she was slim, with long silver hair. She turned round. She was wearing a red carnation on her smart blue suit. She was… Lisa Holgersson.

It took a moment to register with her that the man with the matching carnation was Kurt Wallander, her subordinate. She stopped dead in her tracks and her mouth opened and shut a few times before they both managed to gasp: "You?!"

They stared at each other for a few seconds until Wallander managed to compose himself.

"Er, would you like a drink?" he ventured.

She nodded and sank down on the seat beside him.

"Red wine, please," she said, very quietly.

When she got the glass she took a long drink from it, then sat and contemplated the colour of the wine for quite some time. Wallander was uncomfortable with the silence and tried to break it.

"Well, this is, er…"

"Awkward?" she cut in, sharply.

"Unexpected."

"You can say that again." Holgersson emptied her glass and asked the barman for another.

"I thought you were married?" said Wallander, his toes curling.

"I _was_ married. Nineteen years. Then the rat just up and left, without a word to me about it. Do you want to know where he is now?" her voice was loud and incredulous. "He's shacked up in Skurup with a 22-year-old barmaid." She emptied the second glass of wine and asked the barman for a third.

"Lisa," said Wallander quietly. "We've both had a… surprise tonight. Why don't we have some coffee?" The rate at which she was downing the wine was beginning to alarm him. He could understand the shock of finding that your bind date was a colleague – hell, he was just as shocked—but she was normally so controlled and reserved. Seeing her behave like this was unprecedented.

"I'm fine," she insisted, taking another mouthful of wine.

He escorted her to a table by the window, where at least she would have to get up and walk to the bar if she wanted more wine. He was at a loss with how to make conversation in this situation. Fortunately, Holgersson wasn't. The wine was beginning to take effect.

"That idiot Eriksson won't know what's hit him when I get back to him about this. What was he _thinking_ pairing me up with you?" Wallander was a little stung by his.

"I wasn't even aware that he knew you."

"Oh, he does, all right. Met him through my husband. Ha! Maybe that explains a few things. For a while I thought he had feelings for me, you know, but as it happened brunettes are more his type. Much the same as my husband, really."

Please stop, thought Wallander. Throw your drink at me, threaten me with the sack, grill me about Agata again. _Anything_, as long as you stop telling me all this stuff.

By now Holgersson was on her fourth glass of wine and her usually steely blue eyes were beginning to water. Wallander would rather have liked to have fallen through the floor at this point.

"Kurt, you have no idea what that man put me through. Thank you _so_ much for listening to all this. I needed to get it off my chest." Holgersson paused, and hiccupped.

"Look, Lisa," said Wallander awkwardly. "Why we don't we go and get something to eat? You look like you could do with a meal."

"Yes, let's do that," Holgersson slurred. "You're so kind. I _really_ like you, Kurt, I think I always have. You're my best officer, you know?"

So that'll be why you didn't back me up when that girl made those false allegations of brutality against me, he thought bitterly. That little episode had really coloured his view of his chief. He didn't feel especially inclined to be kind to her now, but the fallout would be too great if he wasn't.

He hailed a taxi and they went to his flat. He left Holgersson on the sofa while he went into the kitchen, made some very strong black coffee and began to cook the first thing that came to hand, which was pasta. There was a jar of ready-made sauce in the cupboard; he thanked Heaven for small mercies. Holgersson meekly took the coffee and a plate of pasta, and consumed them. That was the easy part. The difficult part was persuading her to go home. In the end, he bundled in a taxi, praying that she made it home without any major disasters.

He went to bed, wondering what, if anything, Holgersson would say to him the next morning.

The next day he went into the station at the same time as usual, wondering if Holgersson was in yet. He peeked into her office, only to see her sitting with her head in her hands, massaging her temples. A box of painkillers and several empty coffee cups sat on her desk. He cleared his throat softly and she jumped.

"Come in. Close the door," she ordered, regaining some of her composure. He obeyed, and sat down in the spare chair.

"Look Kurt, I'll get right to the point," she said. "I may have said and done some things last night that I shouldn't have." Wallander stayed silent, but pulled a non-committal face.

"I'm sorry you had to hear all that… stuff." She blushed very slightly. "I don't intend for it to happen again. And Kurt, you do not say anything about last night to anyone, understood?"

"Perfectly, Lisa. Perfectly." Wallander got up and went to his own office. What a woman. He doubted he would ever be able to look at her in quite the same way again.


	4. Date Four, In Which Wallander Has A Lucky Escape... Again

Why did he keep doing this? Wallander pondered the question as he sat tensely at a table in Istvan's Pizzeria, his favourite restaurant waiting for yet another complete stranger to turn up. If he thought about it, Linda's constant badgering probably had a great deal to do with it. It was almost like being married again, he thought. When Mona used to go on one of her jags she would pester him like this. Now, he loved Linda, and was glad that they now had a better relationship than before, but sometimes she reminded him a little _too_ much of her mother. He sighed and drank another glass of water hoping that, whoever turned up, it wasn't a drug dealer, a convicted serial fraudster or his boss. He shivered slightly at that thought.

A woman entered the restaurant, caught his gaze and wandered over to his table.

"Kurt?" she asked, tentatively.

"Yes, that's me. How do you do?" He cursed himself for being so formal, but better that than overly-familiar, he thought.

"Marit Svedman." She shook his hand eagerly and sat down opposite. She was quite a pretty young woman, he thought, definitely younger than the others, especially… no, he would try not to think of that again.

"So you're a policeman? I'd better behave myself tonight!" she giggled. This time, Wallander had thought it best to come clean about his job before they met, just to give any criminals the chance to avoid him. He smiled at her and confirmed that yes, she needed to behave, or they might be in for a little trip down to the station.

"That's all right though, I'd love to see where you work!" she giggled again. Wallander hoped that the next comment out of her mouth was not going to be about handcuffs; it could get a little awkward and besides, he had never understood the appeal of handcuffs to certain people. Fortunately the subject was never raised, although he was quietly amazed at how flirty Marit was. She was very open and candid, and within five minutes of introducing herself had told him about her job, her favourite holiday destination and the kind of men she liked. Apparently Wallander fell into this category. He supposed he should be honoured, even though he felt that, based on their relative ages, he should probably be dating Marit's mother.

They ordered their meals, after much approving comment from Marit over the menu.

"I'm so glad you invited me here!" she enthused. "I love pizza!"

"Well, good. This is one of my favourite little places in Ystad. I hoped you would enjoy it."

At this point Istvan arrived with their starters. Marit dug in with great relish; Wallander had never seen anyone enjoy a salad so much. If only all the women in his life had been this easy to please, he thought. Those years married to Mona could have turned out to be so much more pleasant.

The thing that bothered him now, however, was that Marit was enjoying her food so much that she kept insisting he try it, even trying feed him a forkful of her salad. He could feel himself becoming flustered and self-conscious. What _would_ the other customers in the restaurant think? Eventually he persuaded her to eat the salad herself, to which she shrugged and proceeded to finish her plate, with obvious enjoyment. He found her enthusiasm quite charming, really, even if she was making a spectacle of them both.

In spite of little embarrassments, it was an enjoyable, if exhausting evening. Marit was lively company, and gratified him by laughing at his jokes, even telling a few of her own in return. She asked him if he wanted to go dancing, which surprised him a little. It had been a long time since anyone had wanted to go dancing with him. He regretfully declined, as he had to be at the station early the next day. He was conducting a press conference, which would only be made worse by turning up tired and aching. Marit looked disappointed, but took it in her stride.

"Maybe next time, then?" she suggested.

Wallander was about to agree that this would be a very agreeable plan for their next evening together, when a tall, hefty-looking man burst into the restaurant. He saw Marit and stormed over to her.

"I knew I'd find you here!" he shouted. "Did you think I wouldn't find out what you were up to, you stupid cow? Shared email account, remember?"

"Oh, frick…" Marit said in a small voice.

"Marit?" said Wallander, incredulously. This was going to get ugly, he thought.

"You get the hell away from my wife!" bellowed the man, with a great deal of menace in his narrowed dark eyes.

"Your wife?" replied Wallander. "She said nothing to me about being married. Nothing at all."

"No, she wouldn't," the man snarled.

"Ingvar, please!" interjected Marit. "The way you behave is it any wonder I have to get out for the evening sometimes?"

At this moment, Istvan hurried over to their table.

"Please!" he implored. "You're upsetting my other customers. Please do not fight in my restaurant!"

"Fight? I haven't started yet!" Ingvar growled, tensing his fists.

Wallander had no idea where his sudden sense of calmness came from, but in his position there was only one thing to be done.

"Istvan, please call the police. You know the number for the station." The Hungarian obediently trotted to the phone and made a call, still shooting nervous glances back over at them. Ingvar glared at Wallander. Wallander stared back. Situations like this made him nervous, but better to call for help than try to handle this angry man himself and end up with a broken jaw for his pains.

"I think I'm entitled to confront my wife when I find her carrying on with another man," said Ingvar in an unpleasant voice.

"You're not entitled to make threats," Wallander countered. "And especially not to police officers."

"Police officer? Right, that's it!" Ingvar snapped. "I hate the lot of you, crooked pigs!" He loomed intimidatingly over Wallander. "It was your lot that sent my brother down for something he didn't do. Let's take this outside." He grabbed Wallander's collar, but before he could do anything Svartman and Stefan rushed into the restaurant and pulled him away.

"All right, that's enough!" Stefan shouted. "I might have known it was you, Svedman. Not very bright are you? Come on, let's go."

Stefan and Svartman handcuffed Ingvar and hauled him into Stefan's car, where he sat glaring out at them. Stefan wandered back to where Wallander was leaning against the wall. He suddenly felt very weary.

"Thank you, Stefan," he said weakly. His colleague nodded.

"I keep having to get you out of these situations, don't I?"

Wallander gave him a feeble smile. Stefan knew exactly what had been happening there that night. He wouldn't say anything about it, short of some mild ribbing the next day, but the fact that he knew made Wallander uncomfortable. This really was getting embarrassing.

"Actually, you've done us a favour," Stefan said. "We've been looking for him in relation to something else. He's a complete nutter. Stupid too. Well, see you tomorrow, okay?"

Stefan got back in his car and drove away. Vaguely aware of Marit's presence beside him, Wallander turned to her.

"Look," he said. "We shouldn't see each other again. For obvious reasons, I don't think it would be a good idea."

Then he turned and walked off home. He had already decided, Linda was going to get a flea in her ear for this.


	5. Date Five, In Which Wallander Gets More Than He Bargained For

Wallander strolled by the shore, a pleasant breeze ruffling his hair.  He watched the boats riding the strait between the shore where he stood and the rocky headland opposite, feeling slightly envious of the people in them.  What he needed was a distraction like that.  He wondered if he should go for a swim.

  He was here at Holgersson’s insistence, of course.  He had accrued a lot of untaken leave and she had been adamant that he take a holiday.  There were no major cases at the moment.  Things were, in fact, so quiet that his team had been reduced to running a video game tournament to pass the time.  Someone had brought in a Playstation and most of his officers’ time was spent crowded round it in friendly competition.  Being of the wrong generation to appreciate Playstations and such like, Wallander hadn’t really needed much persuasion to take some time off.  Most of Ystad’s criminals seemed to be on holiday, he might as well go on holiday too.

  So here he was, taking the air at Saltsjöbaden – the _real_ Saltsjöbaden this time, not its hotel namesake – and trying to fend off boredom.  He needed something to _do_.

  As he was walking back to his hotel, wondering whether or not to go into Stockholm and contend with the mobs of tourists (tourists always made him feel grumpy and misanthropic), he clashed shoulders with someone.  He turned round, apologising, and saw that it was the woman who was staying in the next room at the hotel.  They had spoken for a while the previous evening and he had liked her.  She was about his age and quite attractive, with friendly blue eyes.

“I’m so sorry!” she said.

“No, it was my fault.  I should have been paying more attention to where I was going.”

“You certainly looked deep in thought.”

“I was just trying to make up my mind what to do for the rest of the day.”

“Why don’t you come for a walk?  It’s so nice out today.”

  Wallander agreed to join her and they walked away from the main part of the village, towards the woods, making conversation as they went.  His companion, whose name was Agnetha, was good company.  She was here on a short holiday with her daughter-in-law and grandson.  They had gone to Stockholm, so she was on her own today.  She was divorced, kept several dogs and worked as a translator.  On a whim, Wallander asked if she wanted to join him for dinner that night.

“Of course, I’d love to!” she said, giving him one of her warm smiles.

“Shall we say seven o’clock?”

“It’s a date!”

  They parted, and Wallander went back to the hotel with a spring in his step.  He felt that this evening would go much more smoothly than his previous four evenings out.  For a start, he had actually met her in person before the date.  He knew who he would be spending the evening with.  These things tended to make a difference, he thought.

  At seven o’clock Wallander waited for Agnetha by the door to the hotel restaurant.  She was a few minutes late, but he really didn’t mind that, as long as she got there in the end.

  A few minutes after seven, Agnetha appeared, looking flustered and towing a small boy.

“I’m so sorry, Kurt,” she said.  “Sonja my daughter-in-law is not well tonight, so my grandson Mathias will be joining us.  I hope that’s not going to be a problem.”

  Wallander tried not to look as crestfallen as he felt.  Of course Agnetha had to look after the little boy, but he couldn’t help feeling disappointed that they were not going to have the cosy meal that they’d planned.

“Of course it’s not a problem,” he said, forcing a smile.  “Let’s find a table, shall we?”

  The restaurant was busy, as it was popular with hotel guests and non-residents alike.  In the midst of the bustle and chatter they found a table situated near a fish tank.  This immediately posed a problem, as Mathias refused to stay in his seat, preferring instead to stand watching the fish.  Agnetha gently scolded him and he pulled a face at her and sat down reluctantly.

  Eventually a waiter arrived and they ordered their meals.  Wallander ordered some wine for himself and Agnetha, and orange juice for Mathias.  Unfortunately, the boy had decided that he wanted some of his grandmother’s wine, despite her admonitions to the contrary.

“But I had wine at home!” he protested.

“No you didn’t, dear,” said Agnetha.  “That was lingonberry syrup in a special glass.”  Wallander watched, amused by the boy’s stubbornness.  However, a moment later he was very unamused when Mathias knocked Agnetha’s wine glass flying while reaching for his juice.  The deep red wine soaked into everything, including Wallander’s shirt.  Agnetha gasped in horror.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” she cried, helping him mop himself with napkins.

“No, don’t worry,” Wallander tried to reassure her, as he examined the large red stain on his new shirt.  “It could have happened to anyone.”

  With the waiter’s help, they cleaned up as much of the spill as possible.  The shirt was probably ruined.  Agnetha moved her glass as far from Mathias as possible, threatening him with a high-chair if he didn’t sit still.  Mathias threatened her back with a Transformer toy in her salad.  Wallander would have found it comical if he hadn’t just been soaked in wine.

  After a while the main courses arrived.  Wallander had ordered fish, which was of an excellent standard at this hotel.  He tucked in, trying to make light conversation with Agnetha, who was carving up a steak.

“That’s not a reindeer is it?” Mathias interjected.

  Agnetha looked mildly embarrassed.  “No, dear, it’s not reindeer, it’s beef.  Please keep your voice down, you’re putting Kurt off his food.”

“I’m putting you off your food as well, grandma!” beamed the little boy.  Wallander laughed silently to himself at the lad’s mischief.

  At long last, they finished their meal.  Mathias had taken an age to eat his spaghetti and then bolted through his ice cream and sat fidgeting as Wallander and Agnetha talked.  When they got up to go, he bolted for the door.

“I’m going up to see Mum!” he yelled.  Agnetha flinched at the volume of his voice.  She turned to Wallander, looking absolutely exhausted.

“I’m so sorry about that,” she said.  “He’s normally so good, but I think Sonja has filled him up with sugary treats today.  And I’m sorry about your shirt.  Let me give you something toward the cleaning bill?”

“No, no need for that,” Wallander replied.  “Well, it’s been… fun.  But I think we both need a rest now, hmm?”  Agnetha nodded and began to climb the stairs.

“Well, goodnight Kurt,” she said.  He waved goodnight to her, went into the bar and ordered a large Scotch.  Grandchildren, he thought, just one more thing for me to look forward to.  He downed the drink in two gulps and went upstairs to bed.


	6. The Aftermath, In Which Perhaps All Is Not Lost

Wallander returned from his holiday refreshed, if a little sheepish.  When Linda pressed him for details he told her about Agnetha and Mathias.  She fell about laughing, much to his chagrin.

“It wasn’t that funny!” he protested.

“I would have loved to have met Mathias,” Linda smirked.  “He sounds like he had you both wrapped round his little finger.”

“His grandmother, certainly.  Me, well, I wouldn’t be so sure.”

Linda smiled warmly at him.  She enjoyed these times with her dad, drinking whisky and talking about the ups and downs of their lives.  Wallander also enjoyed these things.  He had spent so much time away from Linda when she was young that it was good to make up for lost time now.

The next evening he decided on a whim to go out.  Linda was out of town on an investigation and he was bored and in need of company.  For a moment he toyed with the idea of asking Stefan or Nyberg if they wanted to go, but then thought better of it.  Nyberg had been in a bad mood all day and Stefan probably didn’t want to spend his leisure time with his boss.

Sitting at the bar he reflected that on evenings like this it was good to have a companion.  He thought about the few women he had dated since his divorce.  There was Baiba, over in Riga.  That had petered out; the distance hadn’t helped.  Then there was Anja.  That was a sore one.  He still missed her.

Perhaps this is it for me, he thought.  Perhaps I’m not meant to be a success with women.  This made him gloomy, and he ordered another Scotch.

As he drank he glanced across the room.  A woman was at the other end of the bar with her back to him, presumably arranging her handbag on the seat next to her.  However, there was something familiar about her.  As she straightened up and turned back to her drink Wallander could see her in profile.  It was Höglund.  He was surprised.  Irrationally, he was also very pleased.  He finished his drink and went over to speak to her.

“Ann-Britt,” he called to her.

She looked up in surprise when she heard his voice, but didn’t seem unhappy to see him.  The children were staying with their father, so she was letting her hair down for the evening.  She too was glad to have company.  They chatted for a few minutes.  The minutes turned into a couple of hours.  Before they knew it, it was closing time and they were walking slowly through the streets.  Wallander walked her to her door.

“You know,” she said as they stood on the doorstep, “We should do this again.”

“Yes.  Yes we should,” agreed Wallander.

They said goodnight and she went inside.  Wallander stood by the door, lost in thought for a moment or two, before turning and strolling in the direction of home. 

Could it be?  He could be completely off track, of course, but was it possible that what he’d been looking for had been right under his nose the whole time?

The next day he cautiously arranged to meet up with Ann-Britt again the following week.  Just friends having a drink?  Possibly, but there was the hope of something else, something that they were both looking for.

 

Linda returned from her investigation with a spring in her step.  Both Wallander and Stefan suspected that she had met someone, but she refused to tell them anything.  To Wallander’s relief she also stopped trying to patch up his love-life.

 

Stefan, after much moping, which had worried Ebba no end, finally began a new relationship with a psychologist that Wallander had introduced him to.  Everyone in the team was surprised, especially Stefan.

 

Lisa Holgersson put her evening of indiscretion behind her and found a good divorce lawyer.  Wallander never mentioned their “date” to anyone.  It was more than his life was worth.  They both gave their erstwhile acquaintance Eriksson a wide berth.

 

Life, as usual, carried on, regardless of relationships, loneliness, embarrassments and excitements.  There were crimes to solve, lawbreakers to catch and, Wallander decided, no more spare for looking at the Personals column.


End file.
